


These Are The Hands That Will Love You

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Reluctant Marriage, Sexual Content, Soulmate Bond, soulmates that scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Hermione would do anything to end the war and keep Harry safe. Even becoming a Dolohov.
Relationships: Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger
Comments: 36
Kudos: 348





	These Are The Hands That Will Love You

“Are you sure you want to go through this?” 

The simple question wiggled through Hermione Granger’s carefully crafted defenses. She blinked, trying to make sense of Ginny standing in front of her, hair braided loosely and draped over her shoulder, a simple dress adorning her athletic build. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Her confusion sobered Ginny further and her shoulders sagged, her lips twisting as she stared at her friend. “I asked, _are you sure?_ There are other ways—” 

Clearing her throat, Hermione shook her head and turned her watery gaze to the floor-length mirror. At least the dress was beautiful, a plunging open back dipped to her waistline, delicate ivory lace bracketing her spine. Chantilly lace draped loosely over her shoulders, gently brushing against her skin with every breath. It’d been a gift from her future husband, a family heirloom.

Fleur and Gabrielle had taken great care with her curls and makeup, a fake blush dusting her freckled cheekbones, her lashes longer and thick. 

Even she had to admit it— she was beautiful. 

The most beautiful war trophy, worth more than any amount of galleons to the right buyer. 

In the reflection, Ginny appeared over her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, Hermione.” 

Rising to her full height, Hermione sniffed away the tears threatening to spill over. “I do. I do have to do this. We need him.” 

“We need _you.”_

A thin smile curled her lips. “Well, you’ll have me.” Hermione turned, reaching for Ginny’s hands and squeezing gently. “I’ll just be a Dolohov.” 

xXx  
  


The rays of the full moon streaked through the canopy of leaves, leaving a speckled map of light ahead of her. 

It was a small gathering. Kingsley was straight ahead, her future husband to the right. 

A handful of Order members stood in a wide circle but even with the presence of her friends, she’d never felt more alone. 

Between a pair of ash trees, just a hundred steps ahead, was a completely unfamiliar man. She’d seen him before, of course, but he was still a stranger. 

He’d tried to kill her twice— failed twice, too. 

And while there was very little in the world that would tempt Hermione Granger to take Antonin Dolohov as her husband, it seemed war secrets were the price. She was simply the currency. 

Filling her lungs with a painful, bolstering breath, she took a single step forward. 

Her knees buckled, tears flooding her vision as the leaf-strewn forest floor blurred. A warm body rushed to her side, a strong arm banding around her waist and when she turned, Harry was there, a weak smile on his lips. 

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

The simple greeting rocked her and a single tear broke free. “Hi.” 

“I’ve got my wand. Last chance to run.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile but she knew it was no longer an option. She might not have her cattle brand, but she was already bought and paid for. 

Hermione bit into her lip, hands curling into the fabric of his collared shirt. “Will you walk me?” 

“It’d be my honour.” His touch was all it took. 

Suddenly, she was reminded of exactly why she was doing this 

Antonin Dolohov made an oath to save Harry. 

He only had one condition. 

Just one. 

He wanted Hermione. 

Not just as some sort of sick sex slave or property to beat and abuse. No, he wanted her as his wife. 

It made her stomach roil, but while her body was breakable and transferable, her soul never would be. No matter what the night— the years— held, it wouldn’t break _her._

Straightening her spine, she held fast to Harry and nodded once. 

Absently, she was guided forward. 

With each step, Hermione felt a churning her stomach, but it wasn’t what she thought it would be. She assumed it’d be nausea that overtook her but it wasn’t— the closer she got to Kinglsey, the more she felt like an anchor being pulled home. 

Dolohov stood just feet away, chin tucked and eyes trained on the ground.

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his face. She knew the way he moved with his wand in hand and the set to his shoulders; she knew the shade of his skin and the wildness of his inky black hair but she was missing _something._

He’d tried to kill a seventeen-year-old child without a blink; there was no way he was anything but a monster. 

After a long shuddered breath, leaves crunching under her steps, she came to stand in front of her future husband. There was a burning in her chest, her courage coming to life, filling her. 

This was for the war— _for Harry._

The stranger across from her lifted his chin and whatever Hermione had expected to see… wasn’t there. His jaw was hard and cut, a thick beard covering his cheeks and reaching down his neck. 

And more slowly than she thought possible, his grey, moonlit gaze traveled from her navel to her nose, finally settling on her eyes. The depthlessness of his stare stole her breath away.

Tearing her attention from his eyes, she noticed the disheveled wrinkles of his oxford hidden in the shadows of a black cloak. His tie was crooked and if she looked hard enough in the light of the waning moon, she swore his hands were trembling. 

Kingsley cleared his throat and began, “We are gathered in this sacred wood to solidify the union of Antonin Dolohov and—,” he paused, a tension permeating as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Hermione Granger. Do you both enter into this magical union with full understanding of the marital vow and it’s everlasting promise to each other?”

There was a quiet shuffling behind her. She turned to see Ginny squeezing Harry’s arm, his emerald gaze hard on Dolohov. But when she drew her gaze back to her soon-to-be husband, his attention was solely on her. 

“I do,” Hermione said quietly. 

“I do.” Dolohov’s voice was gravelly and thick, a sound she’d never heard before but also felt comforting for reasons she didn’t understand. Her heart quieted in her ribcage, lulling into a gentle thrum instead of a wild gallop. 

“Then, I’ll proceed. Please join hands.” From beneath the thick fabric of his cloak, Dolohov’s hand emerged. It was broad and calloused, a small numerical tattoo on his wrist and the tail of what she knew to be his Dark Mark. 

Hermione placed her opposite hand in his, their fingers closing around each other's wrists. His thumb gently brushed her pulse point and she felt a flutter of magic shoot up her arm and wind down her spine, stealing her breath as her startled expression locked on his. 

Even in the darkness, his pupils were blown wide, a rim of metallic grey barely visible behind his thick lashes. 

He’d been in the year just above Charlie, from what she’d found out, and must be almost ten years her senior. 

Hermione realised abruptly that she didn’t know how old her husband was. She didn’t know his birthday. Didn’t know if he liked Quidditch or reading. She’d no idea if he had family or was a decent human being in the slightest but despite all of that, she felt calmer now that they were here— far calmer than she’d felt in days. 

Kingsley tapped his wand on their joined hands and a wisp of silver magic materialised, stretching and curling over their fingers and wrists. She felt the pull of his magic and the reaching of her own, like something inside her was longing to be joined— no, _returned_. 

“You are bound by the magic before you to never harm, always cherish, and be compassionate to one another. Do you so solemnly swear?”

She’d prepared herself for this question. Solemn oaths were not something Hermione took lightly and in vowing not to harm the man holding her hand, she had to have hope he would do the same. 

“I swear it,” they said in unison and his fingers tightened gently around hers wrist. 

“Then by the power and light of the—” 

“The vows,” Dolohov interrupted swiftly. “You didn’t say them.”

Kingsley looked uncomfortable and his gaze darted to Hermione. “Did you want me to?”

Blinking, Hermione tried to remember someone mentioning handfasting vows. They’d mentioned the cord and the magic. She’d asked a dozen questions, but no one had mentioned anything further than what had just been done. 

“Yes,” Dolohov answered. “Please read them.” 

He stood tall, shoulders stretching back as he adjusted his grip on Hermione’s small hand. 

After clearing his throat, Kingsley opened the weathered tome in his hands, flipping to a bookmarked page with ease as he read aloud:

_These are the hands that will love you._

_These are the hands that will hold and comfort you through the years._

_These are the hands that will give you support and encouragement._

_These are the hands you will each work with, create with, and use to build a life together._

_The knots of this binding are not formed by these cords but instead by your vows,_

_the promises you make in your hearts and uphold each day through your actions._

_Remember, you hold in your own hands the making or breaking of this union._

Hermione sucked in a sharp gasp as she felt the magic over their hands thrum and then soak into her skin, a light silver shimmer left in its wake. 

“By the power and light of the full moon, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Kingsley stalled again and didn’t speak again until Dolohov glared at him. “You may seal this union with a kiss.” 

The calmness in her heart ceased, instead rising into a rapid staccato that threatened to burst through her ribs. Antonin Dolohov, her husband, took a small step forward, and the entirety of the forest shared a collective breath as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against hers. 

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the softness of his kiss certainly wasn’t it. She’d have been less surprised if he bit her, but as a surge of magic filled her closed eyelids and chased through her veins, she felt home. 

It ended quickly and Dolohov stepped away, the thick tendons of his throat constricting with a swallow as he swiftly avoided her gaze. 

There was no applause or coos of congratulations and well wishes. Everyone hugged Hermione, Molly crying gently and apologizing into her curls for not stopping this altogether. Harry squeezed her so tightly, she wasn’t sure he’d let her go— he might not have unless Ginny and Ron pried him free. 

When the goodbyes were done, Antonin Dolohov offered his arm. No matter how at ease she found herself in his company— which was startling in and of itself— nothing was going to steal the nerves she felt about what came next. 

Without warning, they disappeared from the forest floor in a column of smoke and magic, their bodies twining and joining as they soared over England.

xXx

When they landed, they were again in the woods. Although the trees were less dense and the peppering of shimmering stars in the inky sky were visible. 

In front of them was a small, somewhat dilapidated cottage— maybe shack was a better term. His arm fell away from her and he took off towards the house, brittle leaves crunching under his clunky boots. 

He didn’t wait for her and it took a moment until she followed after, the chill of the night pushing her forward toward shelter. 

Inside, the floor creaked under each step. There was little in the way of furnishings, everything modest. 

Her new husband shrugged from his cloak and held it in the air, magic zipping it swiftly away as it hung on a hook just over her shoulder. 

“Do you drink?” he asked gruffly, already pouring whisky into a glass. 

She didn’t, drink, that is. Had never had more than a butterbeer but that didn’t stop her from mumbling a quiet, “Yes.” 

He offered her a glass, eyes still trained on the floorboards. “This is my house— our house.” 

“Okay.” 

Hermione took a timid sip, coughing and sputtering as it scorched the back of her throat. 

When she’d regained her constitution, she swore she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. She hadn’t allowed herself to set expectations for tonight, but still, she was surprised. He hadn’t yet touched her, only for the ceremony and the subsequent Apparition. 

As he clunked about his small home, tearing his tie free, she found herself getting irritated. From the moment that she’d heard about his proposition, he’d made exactly zero reasons for why he wanted her— a twenty-year-old bride. 

The war had been relentless these past few years, swallowing up their numbers far more quickly then they could replenish them. Dolohov was a way out, one that they desperately needed. 

“What is it you want from me?” Hermione blurted, fingers curling around her glass. 

Dolohov loosened a tight breath and fell into a lumpy armchair. 

“You tried to kill me— twice. I don’t even know how many of my friends you’ve killed and suddenly you’re no more violent than a pygmy puff? What is it that you want from this transaction?”

He flinched.   
  
Rage flared in her chest, twinging her vision. She took another long drink, gagging as it burned her empty belly. Traitorous tears streaked over her cheeks. “Let’s just get this over with. I don’t have the patience for you sitting there in quiet, waiting for you to attack—” 

Dolohov scoffed, glaring at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and returning to stare at nothing at all. “I’m not going to assault you. You’re my wife.” 

_Wife._

“I’m your property,” Hermione bit out. “I entered into this so you’d save Harry, end of. So why don’t you tell me what it is you want from me? Shall I just remain in your bedroom for your use? Or should I also clean and cook?”

“You’re more annoying than I thought you’d be,” he said in a low drawl. 

Hermione’s jaw fell open. “Excuse me?”

He finished his drink and dropped it on the end table as he rose to stand. “I didn’t realize your voice was so shrill— nor that you were so self-righteous.”

“Self-righteous? You treat me like a war prize and expect—” 

“Excuse _me_ , but I don’t seem to recall harming you. I’m not parading you out at a Death Eater revel and letting them humiliate and degrade you. I promised to keep you safe, to cherish you, to provide for you. And I will, in the best ways I can. I know I’m probably not who you were expecting to end up with— and believe me you weren’t what I expected either— but I don’t make the rules.” 

With a scoff, Hermione tightly crossed her arms. “ _Rules_? What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

His metallic stare lifted, his jaw strained from clenching. “We’re soulmates.” 

Hermione blinked once. Twice. Then swiftly erupted into riotous laughter, new tears replacing the old and born of sheer delirium. 

As her guffaws waned, she stared at him properly, sobered to find him looking intently and completely serious. 

“We’re… soulmates?” she managed, a ghost of a chuckle chasing the word free. 

“I was as surprised as you.” 

It was utterly preposterous. She _knew_ that. There was no way this man was anything close to a soulmate. But, as the moments stretched on, Hermione felt her mind bubbling. Her stomach sank and churned and suddenly, she knew. 

He was right. 

He felt like coming home. Felt like a piece of her was finally being returned. 

With a dry mouth, she managed, “How do you know?”

Dolohov didn’t take his eyes off hers as he tugged his shirt free of his trousers and lifted the hem. There, reaching from his ribs to his hip bone, was an ugly, rippled scar. 

She knew the ridges of it. Knew the shade and the color. She knew the tightness in her side if she slept wrong and the way that curse had burned through her with more pain than she thought possible. 

She knew it because she bore a matching one. She’d gotten it at the hand of Antonin Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries, the first time he’d tried to kill her. 

“I still don’t get it,” she confessed, wishing she had a library at her beck and call so she could study this phenomenon more closely. 

Sighing, Dolohov dropped his shirt and crossed the room, stopping just in front of her. His darkened gaze traveled over her face and he lifted his hand, stopping just before he could cup his cheek. 

“May I touch you?”

With a gulp, Hermione nodded. No sooner than his rough, calloused hand came in contact with her skin then a wild rush of magic surged in her body. He must have felt it too because they shared a sharp breath. 

His touch didn’t linger, instead, he simply brushed the curls from her neck. The tip of his finger traced a small scar on her collarbone. “Do you know where you got this?” he breathed. 

Hermione’s fingers met his, tracing the simple scar she’d had most of her life. “I don’t remember.” 

His full lips twitched in a crooked smile. He pulled his tie off and opened the top of his wrinkled shirt. Craning his neck, he exposed a scar in the exact same spot. Without thought, she gasped and her hand shot out to feel the evidence of it. 

“Quidditch try-outs. I broke my collarbone.” 

Silently, he slipped the rest of his buttons loose and let the material fall from his shoulders. He wore a simple white vest covering his torso, but the lean sinewy muscles of his shoulders and arms made her breathless. 

With each passing moment, she felt it more and more intently, this pull. 

He started on his arms, touching a small scar in the shape of a crescent on his forearm, then pointing to hers. Dolohov turned and pulled the back of his shirt up, exposing a silvery scar that looked like a slash. 

She had one, too. But she’d always assumed it’d been an anomaly in her skin, a place where pigment had simply never developed. As her mind connected the pieces, her heart sped into a frantic beat. 

After a long moment, he turned, an abashed turn to his lips. 

“You tried to kill me,” she said plainly. 

Dolohov ticked his chin a touch higher. “I’ve changed.” 

“You tried to kill me _twice._ ” 

Something unreadable flickered across his features. “That curse should’ve killed you, the one I cast in the Department of Mysteries. That was my first clue. You survived and I assure you, you shouldn’t have. Then, I felt that curse burning through me as though it’d been cast on myself. It was duller than you felt, I’m sure, but I hurt with you. I scarred with you.” His jaw trembled just slightly and when he looked back into her eyes, the contrition was evident. “I’m sorry.” 

Hermione snorted. “I don’t forgive you.” 

For all the insanity that this evening had already wrought, she had to hold tightly to the facts. And this fact was that he’d tried to kill a young girl and her friends. 

“I don’t expect you to,” he said with a swallow. “But, I’m sorry anyway. Since that night— or rather since the night we got better— I’ve been looking for you. I wasn’t trying to kill you that night on Tottenham Court, I had to get you to safety.” 

Dolohov took a step forward and reached for her hands, cradling them in his own before placing her palms against his heart. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, of the thrumming heart in his chest that proved he was more a man than a monster. 

“It’s all been for you,” he said quietly. 

Hermione’s eyes floated down and her eyes caught on the angry red scar embedded in his forearm. 

_Mudblood._

“Could you feel it?” She sniffed, blinking away any wayward tears. “When Bellatrix Lestrange did this, could you feel it?”

“Yes.” 

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Hermione wasn’t sure she meant it, but for the harm he’d caused, she logically needed to know that he hurt too. 

“I can feel you here.” Dolohov pressed her hand more firmly into the hard planes of his chest. “I was with the Snatchers, I was on every raid. I had to get to you. If you knew the things I’d done—” 

Hermione disentangled her hand and dejection floated over his features. 

“I know you don’t trust me.” Dolohov straightened to full height. “I don’t expect you to, not yet at least. But for you, I’ll give all my secrets. I’ll be locked in Azkaban. I’ll die. I just need you to be safe.” 

It was hard to make sense of the torrent of emotion rising and crashing inside her. But as always, curiosity won out, and her fingers lifted to trail over the tendons in his arm and then up over his shoulder. 

She took a careful step forward and allowed her touch to travel over his chest and up his throat. He sucked in a hard breath, eyes fluttering closed as his jaw restricted. 

“Is it too much?” she asked quietly. 

“Yes,” he rushed, then quickly shook his head. “No, no it’s not too much. It’s everything… and everything is just a lot.” 

He didn’t open his eyes as her fingertips brushed the curve of his bottom lip, but his hand came up to gently wrap around her wrist. He turned his face and pressed a kiss to her palm. 

That feeling soared inside her again, filling each and every hollow crevice and dusty corner until she knew exactly what he was feeling when she’d been touching him. He was right. 

It was everything. 

He kissed her pulse point and a warmness spread through her body, heating her from the inside out until she was panting. 

“Why does it feel like this?” she asked breathlessly. When he didn’t answer she opened her eyes, the golden light waning as he came into view. “Will it always?”

“The ceremony bound our magic, but our souls still haven’t been joined.” Dolohov pressed his palm against hers. “Or rather re-joined. From what I’ve learned, we keep finding each other. In all these unlikely of circumstances— we find each other.” 

Hermione gulped. “How does one join their soul to another?”

The black of his eyes blew wider and his gaze drifted to her parted lips. With a long swallow, he pulled his attention back. “We consummate the marriage. But, as I said, I’ve no intent to assault my wife. So we can wait, until your comfortable— _if_ you’re comfortable.”

The idea of waiting suddenly seemed abhorrent to Hermione. Hours ago, the consummation had caused her stomach to churn but now, it rolled in a completely different way. Her mind had not yet caught up with her body, and her body very much wanted _him._

“I don’t know anything about you,” Hermione said, reaching for the nearest logical thing she could say. 

Dolohov shrugged. “I’m twenty-eight, born in London. I’m an orphan, no family left. My father died in Azkaban, mother died a few years ago.” 

“And that—” Hermione jerked her chin in the direction of the _mudblood_ scar marring his Dark Mark. “Are you ashamed your soulmate is a Muggleborn?” 

The space between her new husband’s brows creased and he rotated his arm so that the two identifying marks were on display. “Of course not.” 

“You tried to kill me,” she deadpanned, repeating it now for the countless time. “You tried to kill me because of blood status and—” 

“I didn’t. That wasn’t why.” His eyes were full of regret. “That probably seems like an easy answer… but my dad died in Azkaban and all he left me was a shitty name. A name that meant something to very few people. I had nothing. I kept my head down and wand at the ready and did what I was told. When I knew better, I stopped and I came for you.” 

In her gut, Hermione could feel the truth, and knew it to be exactly what he was saying. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. 

Lifting her chin, Hermione stepped away from him and began to step softly down the hall, pausing just at the mouth of the corridor. She turned back to him. “Are you coming?”

xXx

His bedroom was dimly lit and scantily furnished. A small mattress was shoved up against the corner, covered by a thick quilt in shades of green and grey. 

The train of her dress dragged along the bare wooden floor as she came to stand in the middle of the room. Under his footsteps, a loud creaking announced his arrival behind her. 

“We don’t have to, Hermione.” 

_Hermione_. She wasn’t sure why, but the sound of his rich voice speaking her name was like a prayer and it called desperately to her. 

“This dress,” she said, hands smoothing down the front. “They said it was an heirloom.” 

More creaking as he came further into the room. Then she felt a gentle fingertip at the top of her spine, following each ridge of her vertebrae until he reached where the swooping fabric began. The touch sent a shiver over her skin. 

“It was my mother’s.” 

She’d thought as much but the reverence in his voice pulled at her heartstrings. Hermione reached behind her and fussed with the zipper, pulling it down just an inch. 

Dolohov’s hands shot out to cover hers, effectively stopping her. “We don’t have to. I don’t expect… _we can wait.”_

Filling her lungs, she let her hands fall away and turned to peek up at him over her shoulder. “I want to know.” 

His gaze tightened. “Know what?”

“Know what it’s like for us to be together again.” 

His entire body seemed to sag and he looked at where his hands were resting near the small of her back on the zipper. Slowly, he pulled it down, exposing the curve of her spine to the chilled air. 

That was all he did. He made no other moves to undress her or touch her in any way. With a steadying breath, she shrugged the soft lace from her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. Every instinct in her screamed to cover her bare chest, but she fought it. 

  
  


She didn’t turn though, her focus solely on the steady rhythm of her breath. His touch grazed the ugly scar on her side and the warmth of his body flooded her back. His chest bumped into her shoulder blades as his hand curled around her rib. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For this. For everything.” 

At that, she found the reserves of her courage and turned, watching him carefully as his gaze roamed her exposed breasts and then back up to her face. His fingers danced lightly from her scar to the gentle curve of the side of her breast then up to her cheek. 

“Are you sure?” 

Without answering, Hermione reached for the hem of his vest and pushed it up and over his head, marveling at the deep valleys and peaks of his tanned skin and the smattering of short, dark chest hair over his pectorals. 

She took a step forward, the peaks of her nipples brushing against his chest and his hands shot to her hips, a lapse in his precarious control as he pulled her flush against him. 

“Fuck,” he hissed.

Hermione took her time touching him, _memorizing him._ He was painfully handsome, she realized. She hadn’t noticed all that much before but not it was so obvious that she wasn’t sure how she’d ever seen anything differently. 

“Kiss me,” she said quietly. He didn’t move for a long moment. She was just about to repeat herself when he curved around her, one arm sliding up her back and the other banding around her waist. 

Then, he kissed her. 

But it was nothing like the kiss at the ceremony.

It was everything. 

It was a drowned man coming up for air while sinking deeper still. His lips moved expertly over hers, so much so that she felt lamely under-experienced. 

He gently parted her lips and his tongue found hers, drinking deeply from her as his hands held her tight against him. When she found herself breathless, she pulled away, sinking her fingers into the thick muscle of his shoulders as his mouth burned a trail along her jaw and throat.

A desperate moan escaped her as his lips closed around her pebbled nipple and she arched into him, feeling deliriously and beautifully out of control. 

Dolohov growled something deep and dangerous and guided her back until her knees hit the edge of the mattress.

When she was there, just in her knickers and staring up at her husband, a surge of panic welled up inside her. 

“I’m not,” she paused, biting into her lip while his mouth laved wet kisses down the valley of her chest, his large hands massaging her breasts. 

“Hmm?” he kissed the scar on her side, again and again and again. 

Hermione’s face pinched and she tried to focus. “I’m not a virgin,” she blurted. “I’m— I’m not, but it’s been a while. I don’t know if that is something that is important to you, but it’s not something I can do much about now.” 

Her husband froze, then pushed up on his hands and stared down at her. 

“I’m not either,” he said simply, no clues to what was happening in his mind. “But, there have been issues before.” 

“Issues?”

A light flush coloured his cheeks as he climbed off her. Hermione began to prepare herself for the worst and reached for the duvet to cover herself. But then, he yanked his belt free and pushed his trousers and pants to the floor. 

Hermione balked. Her eyes rounded as she stared at his cock for the first time. She’d never in her life seen a man so… well, so large. Her sex simultaneously clenched and ached. 

Dolohov reached down and gripped the base of his cock, squeezing until his muscles were flexed and hard. 

“I’ll go slow,” he said and Hermione could do nothing but blink. “Or we could—” 

“No,” she rushed, propping up on her elbows. “No, I want to. Want _you_.” 

A lopsided grin worked it’s way over his lips and for the first time she saw what happiness looked like when it reached his eyes. He crawled back over her, the warmth length of his erection now pressed against her thigh. 

He kissed her again, then again. “I’m going to take care of you. Tonight and always. You’re a part of me.” 

Once again, he worked himself down her body, but this time he didn’t pause. Dolohov sank to his knees on the floor and hooked his hands around her knees, pulling Hermione forward to the edge of the mattress. He slowly peeled her knickers down before settling her legs over his shoulders.

Whatever insecurity had been currently in her mind was quickly replaced by a fervent need as he pressed a kiss to her sex. 

“Oh my god,” she moaned, thighs closing gently around his ears. 

He licked a flat tongue up her slit, closing his lips gently around her swollen clit and sucking gently. She swore she felt him smile against her quim but then his tongue was pressing inside her as his hands pushed her thighs up and open wider. 

His tongue was quickly replaced by two fingers as he moved his mouth back to her clit. Alternating between fucking her with his fingers and bringing her to the edge of an orgasm with his mouth.

Hermione’s hands shot to the top of his head, slender fingers curling in his wild hair and pulling him closer as he pushed her over the edge of euphoria. Pure ecstasy chased through her veins, her synapses firing in bolts of golden light. 

She’d barely come down, barely made sense of the rapture breaking free in her body when she felt the warm weight of his body covering hers. 

His hands smoothed her curls as he kissed her again and again, settling between her thighs and pulling her knee up. 

“Tell me if it’s too much, Hermione.” 

Her fingers curled around the back of his neck and tugged him against her lips as the tip of his cock nudged her entrance. “Just kiss me,” she breathed. “Don’t stop kissing me.” 

He sank deeper inside her, so slowly that his body was shaking. A sharp inhale broke their lips but he quickly rectified it and kissed her again, stealing away her worries as her magic flared and flourished, dancing free of her body and encircling him. Just as tangibly as she could feel her own magic in her body, she then felt his. 

It was distinct— different. More silver, than gold and cooler, too. It balanced the heat coursing through her and when he’d hilted himself inside her, she saw literal stars. A cosmos that bloomed behind her eyelids as the physical manifestation of their magic braided and coiled around them. 

“I love you,” she whispered, her legs and arms curling around him as she lost herself to the sheer insanity of loving this stranger. But even so, she’d never felt anything more inherently true in all her life. 

A choked breath erupted from his chest and he dragged himself from her walls only to sink back in a slow, single movement. Hermione arched off the thin mattress, nails dragging down his back as she grew accustomed to the sheer size of him. 

“I love you, Hermione.” His fingertips dug into the thick flesh of her thigh as he remained fully seated inside her, watching her closely for clues that she was okay. 

She squirmed, allowing herself to be stretched, and finally, when she felt comfortable, she bit her lip and nodded. “You can move, I think.” 

A broken breath slipped from his parted lips as he pulled out and then rocked back into her. He kept a slow but steady pace, his lips covering every inch of her skin that he could reach as he lost himself inside her.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathed against her skin. “So perfect. More than I ever hoped for. I love you.” 

Hermione whimpered, the walls of her sex fluttering around him as he picked up a more fervid pace.   
  
His words of affirmation mixed with the pleasured noises and sounds of their skin slapping together. 

He groaned against her neck and snapped his hips forward. The muscles of his body strained and tightened as he emptied inside her, his breath coming in sharp pants as he resurfaced. 

He collapsed over her, holding back some of his weight as she trailed her fingernails down the muscles of his back. Suddenly, her eyes focused on the shimmer of gold and silver over his skin, and then over hers. 

She gasped and held her hand up, wiggling her fingers in the air as her husband rolled off her and pulled her close. Their fingers joined and when she looked up at him, he was smiling. 

“These are the hands that will love you,” he said quietly. 

A smile broke free over her lips and she brought their joined hands over his heart. And as much as he’d made it clear that this had all been for her, that he would do anything to keep her safe, Hermione knew without a doubt that she had to do the same for him. 

And she would. 

xXx

**A/N: This one is a new one for me! Big thanks to the anon on tumblr who prompted me with Dolohov x Hermione, soulmate acceptance. I just celebrated my 2k follower giveaway and I shared a few drabbles and doodles but this one called for a little more!**

**When I did my 1.5k giveaway, I was prompted with Thorfinn x Hermione and I had so much fun writing it, I just had to try my hand at Dolohov. You’ll have to forgive me if the characterization is a bit off; I’ve never read any Deathmione!**

**This is also unbeta’d and unread by anyone else than me, so please forgive me for any glaring errors. It was just me and grammarly this time.**

**Biggest of thanks to Vino Amore for her help with Dolohov characterization, I hope I did okay!**

**Stay well, my friends!**

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



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